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COPYRIGHT DEPOSnV 



A LAST WILL 



a Hast Willi 

WILLISTON FISH 




BOSTON 

aiftemeawlett 



COPYRIGHT, 1908, BY ALFRED BARTLETT 



75 3^;^ 3 



LiBRAFYof GONGRESSi 
Two Copses Received i 

NOV 18 1908 I 

CLASS Obi.'^ic. No. 
COP> J- J 



THE MERRYMOUNT PRESS, BOSTON 



V6 






INTRODUCTION 



3 



wrote " A Last WilV* in 1 897. 
It was published first in Har- 
pers Weekly in 1898. Shortly 
afterwards it began to appear 
in a sporadic way in the news- 
papers. Whenever a newspaper 
did not have at hand what it 
really wan ted, which was apiece 
entitled " Reunion of Brothers 
Separated jor Fifty Tears,'* or 
^'Marriage Customs Among the 
Natives of the Fricassee Is- 
lands,** it would run in this 
piece of mine. In return for the 
free use of the piece, the paper, 
not to be outdone in liberality, 
would generally correct and 
change it, and fix it up, often in 
the most beautiful manner; so 

1 1 ] 



that I am forced to believe that 
nearly every paper has on its 
staff a professor of literature 
and belles-lettres, always ready 
to red-ink the essays of the begin- 
ner and give them the seeming 
of masterpieces, and gradually 
to unfold to the novice all the 
marvels of the full college cur- 
riculum. This simple work of 
mine has been constantly under- 
going change and improvement. 
Sometimes the head has been 
cut off; sometimes a beautiful 
woodenfoot has been spliced on. 
When a certain press at Cam- 
bridge reprinted it — Cambridge 
is undoubtedly the home of 
acute belles-lettres — it used 



a copy in which the common 
word dandelions was skilfully 
changed to flowers, daisies was 
changed to blossoms, and 
creeks, zvhich is only a farmer- 
boy word, was changed to 
brooks. When I said that I gave 
*' to boys all streams and ponds 
where one may skate,** this Cam- 
bridge printer added, ''when 
grim winter comes.'* Some 
writers can boast that their 
works have been translated into 
all foreign languages, but when 
I look pathetically about for 
some little boast, I can only say 
that this 07ie of my pieces has 
been translated into all the 
idiot tongues of English, 



The name, Charles Lounsburyy 
of the devisor in the will, is a 
name in my family of three gen- 
erations ago — back in Tork 
State where the real owner of 
it was a big, strong, all-around 
good kind of a man. I had 
an uncle, a lawyer, in Cleve- 
land named after him, Charles 
Lounsbury Fish, who was a most 
burly and affedlionate giant 
himself and who took delight in 
keeping the original Charles 
Lou7isbury*s memory green. He 
used to tell us of his feats of 
strength: that he would lift a 
barrel by the chimes and drink 
from the bung-hole, and that 
in the old Tork State summer 



days he used to swing his 
mighty cradle, — undoubtedly a 
'^ turkey -wing,'* — and cut a 
swath like a boulevard through 
incredible acres oj yellow grain. 
His brain, my uncle always 
added, was equal to his brawn, 
and he had a way of winning 
friends and admirers as easy and 
comprehensive as taking a cen- 
sus. So I took the name of Charles 
Lounsbury to add strength and 
good will to my story. 

WILLISTON FISH 



Chicago, September 1 1, igoS. 



A LAST WILL 



9[|^0 was stronger and cleverer, 
^^no doubt, than other men, and 
in many broad lines of busi- 
ness he had grown rich, until 
his wealth exceeded exagge- 
ration. One morning, in his of- 
fice, he direfted a request to 
his confidential lawyer to 
come to him in the afternoon — 
he intended to have his will 
drawn. A will is a solemn 
matter, even with men whose 
life is given up to business, 
and who are by habit mindful 
of the future. After giving this 
dire6lion he took up no other 



matter, but sat at his desk 
alone and in silence. 

It was a day when summer 
was first new. The pale leaves 
upon the trees were starting 
forth upon the yet unbending 
branches. The grass in the 
parks had a freshness in its 
green like the freshness of the 
blue in the sky and of the yel- 
low of the sun, — a freshness 
to make one wish that life 
might renew its youth. The 
clear breezes from the south 
wantoned about, and then 
were still, as if loath to go 
finally away. Half idly, half 
thoughtfully, the rich man 
wrote upon the white paper 



3 



before him, beginning what 
he wrote with capital letters, 
such as he had not made since, 
as a boy in school, he had 
taken pride in his skill with 
the pen: 

3In tfte K3ame of (Sod, amen 

Charles Lounsbury, being 
of sound and disposing mind 
and memory [he lingered on 
the word memory], do now 
make and publish this my last 
will and testament, in order, 
as justly as I may, to distribute 
my interests in the world 
among succeeding men. 

And first, that part of my 
interests which is known a- 



mong men and recognized in 
the sheep-bound volumes of 
the law as my property, being 
inconsiderable and of none 
account, I make no account of 
in this my will. 

My right to live, it being but 
a life estate, is not at my dis- 
posal, but, these things ex- 
cepted, all else in the world 
I now proceed to devise and 
bequeath. 

^tCin : And first, I give to good 
^fathers and mothers, but in 
trust for their children, nev- 
ertheless, all good little words 
of praise and all quaint pet 
names, and I charge said pa- 

C 12 •] 



rents to use them justly, but 
generously, as the needs of 
their children shall require. 



3 



tent : I leave to children ex- 
clusively, but only for the life 
of their childhood, all and 
every the dandelions of the 
fields and the daisies thereof, 
with the right to play among 
them freely, according to the 
custom of children, warning 
them at the same time against 
the thistles. And I devise to 
children the yellow shores of 
creeks and the golden sands 
beneath the waters thereof, 
with the dragon-flies that skim 
the surface of said waters, and 

i: 13 3 



the odors of the willows that 
dip into said waters, and the 
white clouds that float high 
over the giant trees. 

And I leave to children the 
long, long days to be merry 
in, in a thousand ways, and the 
Night and the Moon and the 
train of the Milky Way to 
wonder at, but subje6l, nev- 
ertheless, to the rights here- 
inafter given to lovers ; and I 
give to each child the right to 
choose a star that shall be his, 
and I direft that the child's 
father shall tell him the name 
of it, in order that the child 
shall always remember the 
name of that star after he has 

c: 14 3 



learned and forgotten astro- 
nomy. 

^ ^tCin: I devise to boys jointly 
"^ all the useful idle fields and 
commons where ball may be 
played, and all snow-clad hills 
where one may coast, and all 
streams and ponds where one 
may skate, to have and to hold 
the same for the period of their 
boyhood. And all meadows, 
with the clover blooms and 
butterflies thereof; and all 
woods, with their appurte- 
nances of squirrels and whir- 
ring birds and echoes and 
strange noises ; and all distant 
places which may be visited, 
C 15 ] 



3 



together with the adventures 
there found, I do give to said 
boys to be theirs. And I give 
to said boys each his own place 
at the fireside at night, with 
all pi6tures that may be seen 
in the burning wood or coal, to 
enjoy without let or hindrance 
and without any incumbrance 
of cares. ^ 

tttti 4 To lovers I devise their 
imaginary world, with what- 
ever they may need, as the 
stars of the sky, the red, red 
roses by the wall, the snow of 
the hawthorn , the sweet strains 
of music, or aught else they 
may desire to figure to each 

i: 16] 



other the lastingness and 
beauty of their love. 

3 tern : To young men jointly, 
being joined in a brave, mad 
crov^d, I devise and bequeath 
all boisterous, inspiring sports 
of rivalry. I give to them the 
disdain of weakness and un- 
daunted confidence in their 
own strength. Though they 
are rude and rough, I leave to 
them alone the power of mak- 
ing lasting friendships and of 
possessing companions, and to 
them exclusively I give all 
merry songs and brave cho- 
ruses to sing, with smooth 
voices to troll them forth. 
C 17] 



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tent : And to those who are no 
longer children, or youths, or 
lovers, I leave Memory, and 
I leave to them the volumes 
of the poems of Burns and 
Shakespeare, and of other 
poets, if there are others, to 
the end that they may live the 
old days over again freely 
and fully, w^ithout tithe or di- 
minution ; and to those who are 
no longer children, or youths, 
or lovers, I leave, too, the 
knowledge of what a rare, 
rare world it is. 



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^OV 18 1S08- 



